


Why Him

by MSpataro210



Series: Season 11 Inspired [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amara tortures Cassifer, Angel Grace: Castiel's Love Lights Up the Darkness, Castiel could be a Hand of God, Coda to 11x18, Dean comes to terms with himself, Dean is so obsessed with Castiel it's not funny, M/M, Most likely Dean Winchester, She don't understand the power of love, Someone really needs to give Cas a hug, Tears and feels, dream-walking, kind of depressed Castiel, self-deprecating Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSpataro210/pseuds/MSpataro210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While torturing Lucifer, Amara realizes now more than ever that Castiel has something that she does not.  This... power, allows him to completely override her profound bond with Dean Winchester.  She cannot stand it, and tries her best to understand what it is about Castiel that makes him so special.  That would make Dean choose him.</p><p>Coda to 11x18</p><p>Can also be seen as the spiritual sequel to an earlier piece "Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Dream" (don't have to read beforehand to understand plot of this one, just used some elements from it because some people wanted more from that story).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Him

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! I hope you enjoy this, I got inspired by many things: the recent episode, gifs of "that one scene" (you know the one), a previous story, my workload finally lightening, and the series finale of Sailor Moon: Sailor Stars. Honestly I was an emotional mess because I finally closed a chapter in my childhood.
> 
> Anywho, don't mind that. But if you catch what I used in this story that was "inspired" from Sailor Moon you will win my favor.
> 
> Enjoy!

            Amara lies down on a stack of crates. She stares, unblinking, up at the ceiling. Her fingers drum up a beat on her stomach. One foot twitches in time with the invisible music. She breathes out a low hum, eyes closing as she sinks further into the uncomfortable rotten wood.

            “Gaaah!”

            Her eyes flash open and dart to the side. Chained to the railcar, Lucifer sags. His chest convulses, his eyes fighting hard to stay alert.

            Amara slowly gets up.

            “I almost forgot you were here,” she drawls, smirking, “Almost.”

            She holds up her hand and crushes it into a tight fist. Instantly, Lucifer seizes up. His veins flash bright beneath his vessel’s skin, and his legs beat uselessly against the dirty floor. It only lasts a few seconds, but it was the worse yet.

            “He’s not… going to come,” he spits, “I was the reason… nggh… he left in the first place.” He tries to pull himself up, but fails. “If I could bet… I’d say your odds of reaching him… ahh… are slim.”

            Amara smiles and pushes herself forward. She takes her time getting to Lucifer. When she does reach him, she leans down into his face, squeezing it between her fingers, forcing it to look at her.

            “Well… you might be right about that one,” she smiles, “so I don’t see the point of keeping _you_ alive any further.”

            The hurt starts again in Lucifer. He seizes, the light glowing inside him dull and dim. With each passing second it gets brighter, the pain becoming more and more agonizing.

            “I-I wouldn’t-gahh-do that, Amara!” Lucifer begs, body thrashing against the rusted metal of the train car.

            “Still trying to sell me on your usefulness, nephew?” Amara laughs, “I don’t need your powers. I am more powerful than you will ever hope to be! And soon, I will have chaos, I will have my brother’s head, and I will have… Dean… Winchester!”

            “If you kill me,” Lucifer gasps, blood flying from his lips, “you will never have him!”

            It takes time to adjust, until Lucifer opens a dazed eye. His body aches, but the horrendous pain Amara subjected him to is starting to fade. Instead of the dark glee that painted her eyes, he sees a dangerous curiosity.

            “You must really be desperate,” Amara mutters, “as if the Winchesters would care what happens to you.”

            Lucifer sees the hesitation in her eyes. He pounces.

            “ _Me_? You’d be right, they would barely shed a tear,” he smiles, “but destroying my vessel means sending dear Castiel to his doom and… that would be the last thing you want.”

            Amara’s features darken and sour at the mention of the other angel’s name.

            “The grunt?” she startles a laugh, “What use could he provide locked away inside your vessel?”

            “He may be just a grunt, _and_ an annoying pain in my assbutt,” Lucifer growls, “but even I have to admit there’s… _something_ about him. I mean, there has to be if _dear ol’ Dad_ took a special interest in him.”

            Amara’s eyes widen, and she leans in closer.

            “He did?”

            Lucifer smiles, “Can’t you smell his power on this vessel? It might be faded, but I can still see the stitches from when Dad sewed him back together.”

            “Then let me undo them,” Amara frowns, returning to her original task.

            Lucifer can feel the fire in his veins, and acts fast: “Do so… and Dean will never forgive you!”

            “As if he could deny me,” Amara smiles, “our bond is stronger than some broken angel.”

            “Are you sure?”

            She stops again, body frozen. Lucifer stares back in defiance, a smirk playing on his lips. Her mouth trembles, and she turns from the archangel.

            “Dean is powerless in my presence,” she defends, eyes downcast, “he can’t resist our bond and he can’t resist me.”

            Lucifer shrugs: “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

            She turns, eyes squinting at him in annoyance. However, it is surprisingly not at him. Instead, in her vision were events days before. When she saved Dean and his brother from a painful execution by Lucifer. How Dean looked at Lucifer’s vessel, eyes filled with unshed tears and unnamed emotions. Exactly how he _didn’t_ look at his actual savior.

            “I am the most powerful being in all of creation,” Amara starts, “I can protect him better than anyone. I understand him better than _anyone_! Dean was created for _me_. He’s the only type of apology I’ve seen for being locked away for millennia. When everything is swallowed by the Darkness, it will only be him and I left to rule our domain. There will be no one: no loud-mouthed uncles, no controlling brothers, and especially no sniveling, pathetic, sad-sack _angels_!”

            She’s heaving, each breath shuddering out of her body with great power. An aura of darkness surrounds her, some even leaking from her eyes the more emotion she thrusts into her voice.

            Lucifer laughs, “Who are you trying to convince here, me… or you?”

            Amara cries out: a wave of power bursting forth. She shatters the surrounding windows, knocks down decaying structures, and rattles the train car. Lucifer remains unmoved.

            She stalks forward, a trail of black smoke following her wake. Amara grips Lucifer by the neck, dragging him up against the rusted metal. Her lips drift towards his ear.

            “What is so… _special_ … about this angel?”

            Lucifer rolls his eyes, “If I knew, I’d probably not tell you, but I would know.”

            Amara tightens her grip on Lucifer’s neck, only to slack her grip. She smiles, for the first time in awhile unsettling the archangel.

            “Well, I’ll just have to find out myself,” she whispers, “won’t I?”

            Amara lifts her other hand and lays it gently on Lucifer’s cheek. It stings, and Lucifer cries out at the contact. From this contact, instead of the usual light filling his veins, ink black shoots across the vessel’s bloody face. Blue eyes roll backwards and Lucifer starts to choke.

            “Don’t worry,” she chides, “this won’t hurt as bad as my other tactics… but it’ll still be pretty painful.”

            Her laughter is drowned out by Lucifer’s screams of pain. 

* * *

 

            The television starts to static, interrupting Castiel’s regularly scheduled programming. He bangs on the top of the box, until ultimately the television goes dark.

            “Usually the service here is so good,” Castiel mutters to himself, continuously banging on the box.

            “That’s not going to work now, dear, dear nephew.”

            Castiel’s eyes widen, and he turns in his chair. Behind him, Amara stands, smirk in place.

            “Amara…”

            “Long time no see, Castiel, dear,” she smiles. However, in the next instant the smile is off her face. She lifts her hand and Castiel goes flying against the wall. He struggles, but cannot move.

            “What are you doing here?” he growls, “Where is Lucifer?”

            “Him?” Amara moves closer, “He’s a bit… _indisposed_ , at the moment.”

            A scream echoes from somewhere far off, a sound so familiar to Castiel’s ears.

            “He… he lost?”

            “Oh, pathetically,” Amara chuckles, “even I felt bad for him. The look in your… I mean, _his_ eyes when he realized he _wasn’t_ powerful enough? Like a kicked puppy!”

            Castiel looks away from Amara. His eyes start to fill with tears.

            “Oh none of that, nephew,” Amara grabs his face, cooing. She flicks away the forming tears with her thumb. “There is no reason to be sad.”

            “Of course there is,” Castiel replies, “you’re inside my body, which means that Lucifer has failed and every sacrifice I made has been for _nothing_!”

            Amara blinks: “Well… when you put it like that… there’s a reason for _you_ to be sad.”

            She leans in closer, “But there’s still no reason why _I_ should feel that way.”

            Castiel widens his eyes yet again. “What?”

            He is tossed once more, this time knocking over the table. His television set cracks on the linoleum tiles.

            “I won,” Amara moves closer, “one of my original jailers is now trapped in my power… I haven’t found my brother yet but I _know_ my power outweighs his… and soon I will have everything I could ever want.”

            She lifts him up by his collar: “So then _why_ … am _I…_ not _happy._ ”

            “Believe me, if I understood happiness I would gladly tell you,” Castiel answers, “but I myself have been lacking it recently.”

            “Exactly,” she yells, “compared to me you fall short in _every_ conceivable way. You lack almost… everything! Yet it’s still you he chose.”

            “He?” Castiel asks, “You mean God?”

            “No!” Amara starts, “Yes, that irks me too, but I never wanted _his_ favor.”

            “Then who?” Castiel continues, “Who would possibly choose me?”

            Amara searches Castiel’s eyes, and only finds the truth. A belief he has about himself that has ignored obvious evidence. He is clueless: completely and unfortunately left in the dark.

            “Wow,” Amara drops him, “I knew you were far gone, but I didn’t think it was _that_ bad. You… _really_ don’t know?”

            Castiel stays silent. He looks up at his aunt, head tilted.

            “I don’t know whether to smite you where you lay or… pity you.”

            “Thanks,” Castiel huffs, “but I’ve lost my taste for pity.”

            “You don’t deserve pity,” Amara sneers, picking him up again, “you don’t deserve _anything_.”

            “I agree.”

            “Will you _stop that_!” Amara screams at him.

            Castiel blinks, “What?”

            “Do you know how much harder you make my job by… agreeing with me?” Amara ask, frustrated, “I’m supposed to be the bad guy here and yet you’re doing a better job at hurting you than I am!”

            “I’ve had practice,” Castiel shrugs, “I don’t just watch television here.”

            “You are probably one of the most pathetic creatures I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on,” Amara sighs, “why he would choose you I would never know.”

            “ _Who_ are you talking about?” Castiel raises his voice.

            “Dean Winchester, of course,” Amara answers, “a man who deserves only the best and most perfect of partners… and he picks _you_.”

            For the first time since Amara entered the angel’s mind, she sees a spark in his eyes. A warm light that frightens her, that pains her. She wants to see more of this light, but in the next instant it is extinguished.

            “You are right. Dean does deserve the best,” he starts, “it most certainly isn’t you… but it also can’t be me.”

            “But it is,” Amara continues, “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. No matter my influence over him, I can’t compare to you.”

            “What?” Castiel breathes.

            “So tell me,” she brings him close, “why?”

            “What?” he repeats.

            Amara squints. “What sort of power do you have that is greater than mine!” she growls, “How are you able to overpower my hold on him? I never expected a low-level seraph to hold so much potential… but maybe my initial suspicions were wrong.”

            “I promise you,” Castiel pleads, “there is nothing special about me.”

            Amara smirks, “We’ll just have to see.”

            She jabs her hand into Castiel’s chest. He screams in agony as his grace is entered without permission. Amara searches, reaching her energy within Castiel’s to see what extra abilities he may possess she was not able to see before.

            It takes a few minutes before Amara’s search is deemed fruitless.

            Her lips curl in disgust, and she once again tosses Castiel away with a shout. He hits the wall near the door and falls on his chest. He struggles to get up, but can barely lift his head. He hears her sidle up to him.

            “Why…” she starts, “Why do you continue to vex me!”

            “Nngg,” Castiel hisses, still limp and weak on the floor.

            She raises a hand, ready to strike, only to pause. An idea flashes before Amara’s eyes, and she smirks.

            “If you won’t show me,” she starts, “then I’ll just have to trigger it myself.”

            The darkness swirls around her, swallowing her up. It then moves on to Castiel. He tries to escape its pull, but drowns in the inky blackness. He follows her, wherever she leads him.

* * *

 

            Castiel feels cold.

            He lifts his head to notice it has gotten considerably wetter. He shifts his eyes around, once used to the new lighting, to notice the new scene. The night is dark, but flashing lights on a nearby house provide sufficient lighting. He recognizes the pattern and shape of the lights to be Christmas lights.

            “Disgusting, isn’t it,” Amara snides, arms crossed.

            Castiel finds the strength within him to lift himself up. He wipes some of the powder off his suit and stares at the house. He can sense a great warmth from it. It calls to him like a siren. He is moth-like in his desire to move closer to the lights.

            “Where,” Castiel starts, “Where did you take me?”

            “One of Dean’s dreams,” Amara pouts, “I’ve had the misfortune of being here in my younger years. It was here that I first saw just what a pain you could be. I thought Lucifer might have actually taken care of you for me… but your power seems to hold even when it is restricted by your brother.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            But then he starts to. A figure emerges from the house, wrapped tight in a coat. The tan material is very familiar to Castiel. His eyes widen when he realizes it is him.

            Dream Castiel holds a gigantic wreath in his hands. He turns, the tails of the coat swinging behind him. The door, which had closed, is now the focus of the dream angel. He swings the wreath into place with care, making sure it sits nice and even on the door. He steps back a tad, making sure everything is level and perfect.

            That is when another figure joins the scene. The door swings open at a surprising speed, sending Castiel flying backwards. The real Castiel braces for impact, only to release the breath he was holding when he sees his other self fall into a pile of snow.

            On the other side of the door is a snickering Dean. He is dressed in a comfortable sweater, jeans, and slippers. He moves forward, still laughing.

            He holds a hand out to the other Castiel, saying something the pair of onlookers can’t hear.

            Instead of being pulled up, Castiel pulls Dean down with him. He flips him over, with Dream Castiel straddling Dean. The Castiel watching can’t help but rush of warmth that runs up his spine and the blush spreading from his cheeks downward.

            He can see him and Dean get closer, faces almost touching. Castiel gives the two privacy when he sees the gap disappear between them.

            “I don’t understand the point of this,” Castiel tells Amara.

            “Honestly, me either,” Amara shrugs, “he can dream about anything yet he chooses to live a normal life… with _you_.”

            The same light from before returns to Castiel, only this time Amara notices it doesn’t fade out. It stays, low and simmering.

            “Me?” Castiel asks, disbelieving.

            “You,” Amara replies bitterly, “Whatever you did to him, I have to say, works. I’ve tried constantly to shift the focus of his dreams, to _persuade_ him into accepting our inevitable fate. The experiments did not match the desired results.”

            “But,” Castiel says, “I have done nothing to him.”

            This was not the right thing to say.

            “This is not normal behavior, Castiel,” Amara grips his neck, choking him, “I have studied every part of Dean, and I have never seen him act this way before. There may have been moments in his life where I have seen something _similar_ but never to the levels I have witnessed within every interaction with you.”

            She holds him forward, forcing him to look closer at the pair in the snow.

            “So tell me,” she grits, “what… makes… you… so… _special_?”

            Even with the amount of force Amara chokes him with, the light still burns in Castiel’s eyes. In fact, it starts to increase the more he focuses on Dean. The way he cradles the other Cas’s head as if he is fragile, something worth protecting from harm. The smile he gives the other, as if he deserves it by just existing. Reads the declaration Dean whispers to the other him in disbelief, his shattered heart unable to process that simple three-word phrase.

            The light shines ever brighter, soon moving out of his eyes and into his body. His whole being starts to glow a bright silver hue.

            “Aaahh!” Amara hisses, hand burning from where she held Castiel. She drops him to his knees. He continues to glow.

            Soon enough, the glow gets to be too bright, and draws the attraction of the other member in their journey.

            Dean looks to his left to see two familiar figures.

            “…Cas?”

            Below him, the other Castiel starts to fade, as does the rest of the dream. He scrambles to a standing position, moving closer to where the light shines as bright as a star. He feels warm, like a gentle wave rolls over him and puts him at ease.

            “Cas!”

            Castiel brightens further at the sound of Dean’s voice. He stands as well, looking at where Dean makes his way ever closer to him.

            “Dean!”

            Amara looks on, frightened by the overwhelming energy she cannot understand. She flashes back to a time when she was younger, still under the rule of Uncle Crowley’s thumb. She remembers not being able to understand the same power; the same feeling that is in front of her now. She remembers how weak her bond with Dean was, as it is now.

            Amara reaches out to Dean, and even though he is so close she has never felt more distant from him than now. She bites back a curse. She can tell her hold is fraying, and must act fast.

            Dean and Castiel reach each other soon enough. In Dean’s eyes, Castiel sees everything he’s never believed could be true: about himself and their relationship. He hopes his eyes speak the same to Dean.

            Castiel places his hands on Dean’s, welcome for the contact.

            Dean smiles, tears pooling at the sides.

            “Cas-“

            His eyes darken considerably. The tears fall, as do the rest of him. He goes slack in Castiel’s grip.

            “Dean!”

            The angel sinks to the ground, Dean’s unblinking stare focused on Castiel’s worried one.

            He looks up and into the frowing face of Amara.

            “What did you _do_?”

            “Relax,” Amara waves, “as if I would hurt him. I woke him up. I decided I’ve seen enough.”

            The Dean in Castiel’s arms starts to fade from view. Castiel tries to hold on tight, his light fading faster and faster. He leans in close; lips hovering over Dean’s barely there ones. When he takes the plunge, Dean’s body has already faded from view and disappeared.

            There is only darkness, and Castiel weeps for what could have been.

            Amara looks on with a grimace, arms once again crossed.

            Castiel looks up, eyes having returned to their sad, dull blue.

            “Please,” Castiel begs, “if you are going to kill me, do it now.”

            Amara smirks, “Kill you? And here I was thinking of showing you mercy…”

            “The only mercy you can offer is ending my pain,” Castiel continues, “knowing what I know now and being unable to do anything about it… is worse than anything that you could do to me.”

            “Don’t be so dramatic, nephew,” Amara snides, “besides, even if I could show mercy, I still wasn’t planning on killing you.”

            “Then what are you going to do?”

            “Now that I have seen what I needed, I am going to learn everything there is to know about your power. I’ll harness it and use it myself to prove to Dean we are destiny!”

            Castiel chuckles darkly. “You will _never_ understand what it is that Dean and I share. I only hope that my spirit gives out long before you get what you believe you will find.”

            Amara looks on darkly: “Well, we’ll just have to see then, won’t we?”

            They disappear in another flash of smoke.

* * *

 

            “Cas!”

            Dean awakes, eyes wide and dripping in a cold sweat. He stares out into his room, vision blurry.

            A hand touches him on his shoulder and he reacts.

            “Dean, Dean! It’s me! Sammy, it’s Sammy!”

            Dean drops the appendage, sighing in relief. He notices the younger brother sitting on the side of the bed. He still looks wary, hands hovering over Dean’s shoulder. Dean looks away, pulling his knees into his chest.

            “…You okay?”

            Dean snorts, “Obviously.”

            They sit in silence.

            Surprisingly, it’s Dean who breaks it.

            “I, I had a dream,” he starts, licking his lips, “although, I don’t think it was a dream.”

            “Did it have anything to do with Cas?”

            Dean looks at his brother. There is only understanding in Sam’s eyes. Dean swallows audibly.

            “Yeah,” he breathes, shakily, “he was there. With _Amara_. He was… shining: like the damned North Star in the sky. I couldn’t look away. I tried to reach him, I did reach him but then… I woke up.”

            “That explains some things,” Sam mutters. Dean looks at him.

            “What _things_?”

            “When I got here,” Sam explains, “you were screaming, loud. Just, repeating Cas’s name like a prayer. I didn’t think anything odd about it until I saw you…”

            “Saw me what?”

            “ _Glowing_.”

            Dean’s eyes widen. There is more silence before Sam clears his throat.

            “What do you think it means?”

            “Honest answer?” Dean asks, “I have no friggin’ clue.”

            “Granted, it was nice to see you filled with light,” Sam jokes, “beats the darkness.”

            Now both their eyes widen.

            “You don’t think…”

            “Maybe,” Sam continues, “think back. In your dream, you said Amara was there? Did you feel anything from her?”

            “I-I don’t think so,” Dean answers, looking away, “I was so caught up in Cas I completely forgot about her. He was just shining so… damn bright. I couldn’t ignore him. He lit up everything, Sammy.”

            Sam leans back, thinking.

            “Maybe,” Sam posturizes, “Maybe Castiel has some power that can beat Amara?”

            “If he did, he didn’t use it the last time he fought her,” Dean snarks.

            “Maybe he didn’t know,” Sam throws out, “I mean, there’s probably a lot Cas doesn’t understand about himself. He has gone through a lot… maybe it’s an upgrade?”

            “Even then, don’t you think Lucifer would have realized it by now?” Dean asks, “the bastard is evil but he knows how to use every weapon at his disposal. If he knew Cas had an ace up his sleeve he would have used it before he was captured, with Cas along for the ride!”

            “The power could be Castiel’s and not his vessel’s,” Sam points out, “maybe only Castiel can use it.”

            “Even then, what’s the point,” Dean sighs, “we can’t get to him until we ferret Amara out from wherever she’s hiding. And it’s not like we could use another Hand of God, as if those even work.”

            Sam’s eyes flash with an idea. “Maybe we haven’t been using the right Hand?”

            “Next time we’ll try the left,” Dean snarks, “what are you getting at?”

            “I just realized,” Sam explains, “Hands of God are earthly items imbued with God’s power right? Well, wasn’t Castiel stitched back together by God? Maybe some of his power is inside of Cas right now?”

            “And what?” Dean asks, “we get to Cas and tell him to burn himself up using whatever mojo the World’s Worst Father left in him to fix our mess?” Dean shakes his head, “I am not doing that. If Cas has some sort of power, I won’t force him to use it if it costs him his life.”

            The brothers stare down at each other. Each hold their ground, beliefs set firm. However, Sam breaks first. He blinks, noticing a new light that has come to burn within Dean’s eyes. He backs away from Dean’s bed, and starts to move towards the door.

            “Okay,” he relents, “we find Cas, free him, and find a new way to destroy the Darkness.”

            “Great,” Dean turns around, back facing Sam, “now good night.”

            Dean starts to drift, only to startle back awake when Sam, who hasn’t left yet, asks a questions.

            “Why do you think Cas was able to do this?”

            Dean closes his eyes once more, “I don’t know Sammy. That kind of thinking requires me to get my full four hours. We can discuss why Cas is suddenly God’s favorite son over eggs.”

            “No, no,” Sam clarifies, “I mean, why do you think Cas was able to break Amara’s hold over you? Why him?”

            Now that is has been said, it can’t go unsaid. Dean didn’t want to remark on it earlier. Whenever his mind wanders towards the angel, he does feel the cloud Amara left within him start to dissipate. Many of his dreams were freed of her chains, just by the angel being close to him.

            Sam turns, not expecting an answer. However, he freezes in the doorjamb when he hears Dean clear his throat.

            “Probably because,” Dean whispers, so much so Sam has to strain to hear, “because-“

            “Because I love him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? I hope you did, and show how much you did with kudos and comments!
> 
> Also, I apologize for what I put Castiel through, just trying to keep it in character as much as possible, and unfortunately that is where his character is at.


End file.
